Fooled
by leuska
Summary: Speculations for the 4x19: 47 seconds promo. Castle's thoughts on the whole Beckett season 4 secrets mess, with a pinch of his mother's input on the matter and a text message that might offer a solution. CHAPTER 3 with the conclussion has been added.
1. Fooled

**Name: **Fooled

**Fandom: **Castle

**Characters: **Castle/Beckett, Martha

**Genre: **Romance, Angst, POV, (..is self-pity a genre?)

**Rating: **R, I guess, for exactly one curse word

**Word count: **approx. 2 100 words

**Spoiler alert: All up the aired episodes. **Contains promo spoilers and speculations for the upcoming episode _**4x19 – 47 Seconds! **_

**Summary: **Castle's POV and thoughts on the whole Beckett season 4 mess, with a pinch of his mother's input on the matter.

**A/N: **_Just for the record, I want to say that I had the word 'fool' in my mind for weeks, if not months now, applying to this situation and Castle's thoughts on in. So yeah, I *am* keeping that word, Andrew Marlowe, everything else is yours._

_The story hasn't been betaed, sorry. The reason – I don't have a Castle beta yet. Since I am not a native speaker, please, bear with me, but I tried to catch all the flaws and typos best I could._

**Fooled**

"So she lied," his mother says like it's no big deal. "Everybody lies," she points out to him, her voice gentle enough, but the pointed look speaking volumes to him. He doesn't need reprimanding for his past sins right now. He definitely doesn't need that. Especially when there is an LCD screen waiting back home, full of secrets he lied about, is still lying about, albeit only by omission and because he cares. That's why you are supposed to lie, right? To save somebody?

_Yeah, you could definitely say that… in one of those Danielle Steel novels._

"I am not saying I agree with her Richard," his mother continues gently as they weave their way through the crowd. "I am merely saying that you owe her a shadow of the doubt. Maybe she had very good reasons," Martha suggests and something inside on Castle snaps.

_He doesn't owe her *anything*, _his mind screams, but even then, he knows that's not true. He owes her _everything_, and even if not, it's what he wants. Isn't that the problem? Him wanting something she obviously doesn't want to give?

The blade of betrayal twinges in his chest again, gutting him raw. He laid his heart bare in front of her last summer. True, not in the most convenient time or place, but still, he opened himself up to her, offered his heart on a silver plate. And she didn't just ignore it. She outward _lied_ about it_._

See, this is the part he cannot wrap his head around. Maybe he's already so far gone with putting her on a pedestal so high that he cannot even see her there on the top anymore. Maybe he's forgotten that she is just a human after all, not a muse, not a goddess, not a superhero. Just a human; and a flawed one as well. Because humans lie, don't the? Daily, carelessly.

_But not Kate Beckett._

He never took her for a coward, for someone to take the easy way out. He has seen her break men he would flinch from when they as much as looked at him in a dark alley, seen her go wild with rage and smash a drug mogul into a glass pane until it broke, seen her jump fences and run at high speed after a suspect, gun in hand and high-heels on feet.

It's not just the physical strength he had attributed her to, however. He's seen her work with victim's families, seen her deliver news he himself flinched merely thinking about. She did it with head high and straight-eyed, speaking with a gentle, caring and most calm voice to ease the blow to come just that little bit. It's something he knows must be killing her each single time, for she knows what it _feels_ like to be on that other side of this horrific conversation. Yet she never makes this about herself, she does it for the victims and their families, to honor them, to provide something she herself wasn't offered.

That's why it hurts so much for Castle, because quite frankly, he feels like a victim himself right now. A victim of this giant farce, a ruse of gigantic proportions.

"You have to try to understand Richard, she's just been shot, lying in a hospital bed, hurt and confused. Her captain gone and boyfriend hovering just outside the room, a gaping hole right in the middle of her chest, what did you expect her to say, dear?" his mother says and Castle realizes he's nearly forgotten her to be there, he's so deeply lost in his own thoughts.

_Well guess what? He had a huge gaping hole in his chest too. His just may not have been so obvious, but it hurt just as much._

It's not like he didn't ask her, right? Over and over again. He might have understood the hospital. But for ten months - God, he is sick even thinking it - for ten agonizingly long months, he thought he might get a chance at something one day with Kate Beckett, pining for the feelings of a woman who had her decision long made but was merely cowardly enough not to tell him.

_God, who else knew?_

Castle can't stop thinking about that. Did Lanie know? Esposito? Ryan? What about her father? The shrink? What about the whole fucking precinct? Did everybody just watch Richard Castle entering the bullpen each day for nearly a year, a big stupid goofy smile on his face with two coffees in his hands, and the word _fool_ written all over his forehead for everybody to see?

_The silly writer with a teenage crush for one of their own. How hilarious? A writer, who's never even been subtle about it, licking the Mayor's shoes and buying his way into the precinct in order to harass his favorite detective while bouncing wild theories and playing bros in arms with the rest of them all. _

The sickening feeling is crippling. Did they get a good laugh at him, sitting around the bullpen, or the break-room, jesting over the middle-aged man with too much spare time and money on his hands to actually spend it with them, pretending to be a cop in order to swoon his muse of three years by tracking behind her like a love-sick pup? _Did *she* have a good laugh about it too?_

Now he's simply being mean, and pathetic, Castle knows, and there is a fair, okay, _a_ _giant,_ dose of self-pity thrown somewhere in the mix of his jumbled feelings. Deep down, Castle knows it's not like that, he knows that despite everybody's assumptions - assumptions that are highly correct and always have been mightily fueled by his own damn zeal – that he has strong feelings for the New York's finest detective, despite all this, Castle is pretty positive that Kate wouldn't share this particular information, his broken declaration from last summer, with anybody. He has his doubts about many things, but not about this. He also doubts that even Lanie, her best friend, knows.

Still, he can't help the feeling of betrayal and violation spreading like wildfire through his chest. She knew all along how he felt about her, must have remembered the tears, must have heard that desperate, pleading tone of his voice when it cracked over her name. He himself still sometimes wakes to those broken words in the middle of the night, drenched in cold sweat. She knew and she must have known how much it was killing him to be left alone in this, carrying the burden of her never knowing, and still, she didn't say a word about it, she let him hang loose.

That's not what partners do, or friends, or whatever hell they are.

Three months he's been sitting in his loft, been hiding there the whole summer, never as much as leaving for a weekend for the Hamptons with his daughter or his mother to get some tan on the beach. He'd holed up in his study with his laptop and an unfinished book that wrote of a matter hitting way too close to home and a phone that never rang, no matter how many times he sent desperate, pleading looks its way.

He spent two months blaming himself. For everything that's happened to her ever since he entered her life, but mainly for the shooting. The last - the third - month of his involuntary exodus from his favorite person's life, he simply spent brooding. Because she could have called, she _should _have called, only if to tell him she blamed him, but she should have at least called. The images of being in her father's cabin, with her handsome motorbike slash super-surgeon boyfriend tending to her every wish and whim, didn't help either. _He_ should have been that man, he _wanted_ - so much - to be that man himself.

Then she showed up, after three months. And out of all the possible places, at a Nikki Heat book signing non-the-less. How ironic. He wanted to be angry with her then, wanted it so much, pretended to be for the mere pathetic five minutes, until she dropped the bombshell that Josh was out of the picture and just like she knew he would, he was back to the heel-licking puppy to follow her across the street and sit on the swings with her. He listened to her talking about needing time and space, and he thought it to be a promise to him, a promise that she'd be ready for a new relationship one day, if he only waited. Just now does he realize, she might never have talked about _him_.

He wonders now, if he didn't have her mother's case files in his possession, would she have come to see him at all. A lump rises into his throat and he knows he is not ready to face the answer.

His looks around himself instead, nearly forgotten he's are in an open street. They still walk the occupy-Wallstreet square, his mother's hands now looped around his loosely hanging arm, her tiny frame squeezed to his side in a gesture of affection and support. He is grateful for her comfort, as well as he is for her silence. He cannot stand to listen to her attempts to justify Beckett's actions to him any longer, even if only for trying to lower the blow for his own sake, he knows. Yet he cannot stand it.

She openly lied to him, numerous times. The writer in him knows there are infinite reasons for people to lie. Right now, he doesn't want to think a single one of them. Yet the thoughts sneak their way through the back door of his mind on their own volition.

Worst case scenario; she lied because she doesn't feel the same way and she doesn't care at all. Best case scenario, she doesn't feel the same way and she lied _because_ she cares.

Castle doesn't know which one of the two options to consider worse. The only thing he knows is a deep-seeded feeling of loss he cannot will away. There is the feeling of anger, betrayal, disbelief and self-pity, rage even, at the unfairness of it all. But beyond all that, what remains is a dull hollowness that feels like a dear bet lost, like something deeply treasured has been lost to never be found again. It's _hope_, he realizes with a crushing start, his lungs constricting with the realization. Hope for a happy ending for him and Kate, for _them_. Because despite what she thinks, there is one thing Richard Castle knows for sure.

He absolutely could and _would_ be her one and only, if given the chance. The hope on that chance has now slipped through his fingers, and that hurts more than he can say.

His phone beeps, he has a text. He suspects he knows who the sender is. He doesn't want to know. He _does_ want to know. Which makes him an even more pitiful person than he already is.

Deciding there is no sense in lying to himself, he extracts the phone from his pocket and looks at the screen because truth is, _he wants it to be Beckett_, he always wants it to be Beckett, whether he's heartbroken or not. And with the same certainty, he knows he'll always pick up, no matter what a man that will make him in the long run.

The text flashes across his screen and Rick wishes there could be satisfaction in his right guess at who the sender is.

"_Can we talk, Rick? Please."_

_Wow, must be desperate for her writer-monkey, calling him Rick,_ Castle cannot help but think bitterly. But the added please just does it. Because Kate Beckett _never_ pleads. He plays with the thought of not replying, not going into her wish, not rushing to her side whenever she pleases, at least for this once, but he already knows it's a futile effort. He _will_ be that man to rush to her side. _Always_.

His mother is giving him an expectant look and he realizes she must have peered around his shoulder and read the text. He gives a sigh, looks at her like a little boy lost. His eyes say it all:_"What shall I do, momma?"_, and something inside of Martha Roggers breaks for her beloved son.

She gives him a tight lipped smile, pats him on the back sympathetically. "It's your chance kiddo. Go and tell her everything you were not telling me or anybody else in that past ten months and _make-it-count_," she tells him, emphasizing the last three words dramatically. "Make her understand. And if she, by any chance, still doesn't see what's been literally dangling right in front of her nose for all this awfully long time," she lets the sentence hang in the air with a sigh for a moment. "Then maybe," she continues more gently and takes a tentative breath, because she knows there is no way of saying this without breaking her little boys heart all over again, "it's time to let her go."

He looks at her and something in his chest shifts. Because there is no way in this world he is letting her go. He can't, literally _can't_, God knows he's tried. Which leaves him only with one option. He has to make his last fight count.

Xxx

_A/N: Reviews are like coffee, so please, leave me some skin tall latte with two pumps vanilla sugarfree, mkay? _


	2. Fool me once

**Name: **Fool me once…

**Fandom: **Castle

**Characters: **Castle/Beckett, Esposito, Ryan

**Genre: **Romance, Angst, POV

**Rating: **R, I guess, for exactly one curse word

**Word count: **approx. 3 400 words

**Spoiler alert: All up the aired episodes. **Contains promo spoilers and speculations for the upcoming episode _**4x19 – 47 Seconds! **_

**Summary: **This is a companion piece to my previous story _**Fooled**_ that had Castle's POV. This one is in Kate's POV and her thoughts on the whole (non)relationship disaster in season 4.

**A/N: **_Okay, I didn't directly plan on writing up a sequel to the first part, but you guys were all so amazing, so I couldn't 'not-to' write a sequel. Hope you enjoy and still like the story. To say the truth, getting into Beckett's head was far far more difficult than Castle's. Also, __**I've had this wrote up before the sneak peeks appeared, so in my story, Kate knew Castle to be behind the glass.**_

_Again, this chapter hasn't been betaed, sorry. The reason – I don't have a Castle beta yet. Since I am not a native speaker, please, bear with me, but I tried to catch all the flaws and typos best I could, though not as carefully as the first time, cause I am too busy, SORRY._

_Thank you all for those wonderful reviews, you have NO idea how all warmy, tingly and fuzzy they've made me. A special thanks to **Dalfron, **cause you nailed it in your review, and **1477166,** because you gave me what I asked for, yumm! _

**Fool me once…**

She exits the interrogation room, still fuming. She's got nothing, all for nothing and they are running out of time. It's not that they are worried about a second bombing, it looks like it's been an isolated incident targeting a single person while taking dozens with it as well, but the violence and public uproar about the act causes the DA along with Gates to breathe down their necks to find the bomber, ASAP.

She takes the case file she's just been holding in her hand and slams it against her table once again for good measure, then takes a deep breath, finally realizing where exactly she is to loose her temper this carelessly. Looking around the bullpen, she takes a couple steadying breaths.

_Where the hell is Castle when you need him?_

Just at that very moment, her eyes spot him, standing only a couple feet away from her, giving her this odd look. It has her confused and irritated at the same time. So what if she snapped? Happens to all of them from time to time, doesn't it?

"What?" she snarls at him, squares her shoulders defiantly. She really shouldn't be picking a fight with him right now, but she is angry and frustrated with this investigation and instead of doing his … well, _usual stuff_, Castle is just standing there like a goddamn statue, speechlessly giving her this strange _look_.

Only then does she notice that he's having his coat draped around his forearm as if he's about to leave, which has her even more confused. _They've just been in a interrogation together, so where the hell he's thinking of going?_

Come think of it, he really looks odd. Her shoulders drop as they keep staring at each other in silence, the busy commotion of the bullpen suddenly fading out around them. He's obviously waiting for something from her, but for the love of God, Beckett cannot think what's wrong. They've just been together in an interrogation, well technically, _she's _handled the interrogation while he was waiting behind the glass but still, nothing could have happened that would make him stare at her like he is now. He looks awfully serious and a knot settles in the pit of her stomach, though she can't find any reason why.

"Nice interrogation tactic," he says at least, his voice unnaturally deep and grave.

She is momentarily confused, going back to the 15 minute long grilling of their latest suspect going over her words.

"Can't _remember_?" he asks and there is something cold and challenging, mean even, in his voice all of a sudden, despite his tone and look being carefully measured. Calculated. She tries but has a hard time remembering the interrogation, of course she is when he is being strange like that. She is momentarily captivated by the coldness of his look, she is not used to that and then she breaks the eye contact in order to think. There is obviously something he wants her to remember…_So remember Beckett, humor him only to take him apart later._ She challenges her own mind.

And then it hits her, full force. _I was shot in the chest and I remember every second of it!_ Her eyes snap up in horror and lock with his. She surely didn't…and he was just behind that glass …making the connection…

She suddenly can't breathe.

"Ah," he notes most quietly. "_Now_ she remembers." He lets the last word dance out of his mouth graciously, but the grimace he makes speaks of a foul aftertaste. "Was about damn time."

She merely keeps looking at him, shocked, numb with terror and guilt and fright she cannot explain even to herself. The only thing she knows is the string of curse words galloping through her mind before the voice in her head settles on a single chant: _Not like this, not like this._

He's still giving her that look and it's even more intense now than it was before. She has a hard time keeping it, the blue of his irises unnaturally chilly. She cannot hold his eyes any longer, breaks their eye contact, resting her eyes on the floor. He is still waiting, probably for her to say something, justify herself, but her mind is completely and utterly blank.

"Well," he says at last, a tint of that nonchalant cocky arrogance she hasn't heard in ages now in his voice, "I remember I promised my mother lunch, so have a nice day detective." And he leaves. Just like that.

_That's it? Have a nice day, detective?_

No shouting, no whining, no pompous gestures or a 'scene grande' in front of the whole damn bullpen? No lecture on partners and trust and betrayal? She wouldn't mind, you know. Because she totally deserves it all.

A hand goes to rest against her forehead and she literally swoons in her spot, her bottom hitting the side of her table and holding her weight. She wants to take a deep breath, because obviously, she's forgotten how to breathe in the past couple of minutes, but her lungs are constricted and she can barely draw air.

Her fingers are unnaturally cold against her forehead so she rests her hands against her hips instead, head lowered and hiding behind the curtain of curly hair. She dares one last look in the direction he's left and just about catches a glimpse of him as the precinct's lift doors close shut.

It's a picture that will stay with her for a long time. Gone is his measured posture, or the arrogant lilt of his voice, the cold spark in his eye. What's in the lift is a man that obviously needs all the support he can get as he heavily leans his whole body against the wall, head thrown back and eyes closed shut. His hands are squeezing his coat in tight balls as if handing on it for dear life.

The moment's gone and she is left standing in the bullpen, wondering what the hell just happened. She replays the conversation with her suspect one more time, then groans, slumping into her chair and hiding her face into her hands. _She just didn't, did she?_ _Had she just really offered her ten month old secret for a bunch a magic beans she hoped to extract from their suspect? And Castle…*God* Castle…_

It comes to her only now, the full extend. This is _not_ how it was supposed to happen, not like this, not now. _Not-like-this_.

Her whole body hums with nervous energy and she feels like she's just had the fight of her life or been shot at with no Kevlar on…She feels like weeping and _damn_, she is in the middle of the bullpen with Rick gone and she doesn't know what to do.

"Yo, where did Castle go?" asks Esposito, closing in on her desk, Ryan at his heels. They weren't there for the interrogation, thank God, but she honestly doesn't know how she is supposed to deal right now, how to continue on like nothing just happened.

She wishes she could stay hidden in the embrace of her cold hands on her face, the world outside this tiny piece of existence fading away. Seven months of therapy and carefully laid out plans wasted in one single moment of stupidity and recklessness.

"Hey Beckett, are you okay?" asks the softer voice of Ryan and she feels even worse, because now there really _are_ tears squeezing under her eyelids and she can't do anything to stop them, unable to will them away.

She thinks back to her therapy sessions, thinks of Dr. Burke's soft deep voice telling her to calm down, relax and simply _breathe._ She takes a moment and it works, at least to some extent, so she is able to raise her head to look at the boys. She can see them notice her state of being, the glistering quality of her eyes, but they don't comment and she is eternally grateful. At least until Espo attempts to lighten the mood.

"Did mommy and daddy fight? Cause he kinda promised to take us out for drinks later," he says with a mischievous twinkle in his eye and Kate's whole insides swell. And not with that warm feeling, not with that supposed happiness, no, it's something different altogether, and she doesn't know what it is but it's not a nice feeling. It's like a bubble that grows from inside of her chest, pushing stuff around and Kate has to squeeze her hands into tight fists to stop herself from rising to her feet and smash something against the nearest wall because well, _she's royally fucked up and she has no idea how to make it right again and here they stand and make fun of it like this wasn't the most stupidest thing she's ever done in regards to Castle, and God knows there were plenty._

She knows it's not their fault, knows they don't _know_, still. She has a hard time controlling her despaired rage. Because she stuck, stuck here, with them, when she feels like chasing behind him, wherever he's gone, grab him by the lapels of his jacket and telling him that the only stupid and cowardly person in the relationship is her. Because she's seen his look, you know, seen that devastation in his eyes as the realization hit, seen that disgust over letting himself been leaded on for so damn long, that "_I'm such a fool!_" look behind his false bravado. It twist her chest that he feels like he has to put a show on like that in front of her, hates that she's made him believe he has to be that happy careless person without a care in the world in front of her.

Not just one thing flashes in front of her eyes, it's like having an epiphany. Like only now she can see paste the farce, past the mask he's been putting on for so long for her sake. She knows, she is not completely clueless, that he's been putting everything on hold in his life for her, putting her needs in front of his own, for so long now. She could see it that day in front of the bank in his daughter's face, her words _"They better!"_ spiked with anger and something more darker she couldn't afford to analyze back at that time. She cannot believe how she could have been so selfish to leave things go this far.

Her phone rings and the phrase 'saved by the bell' never applied more accurately to Kate. She breaks out of her thoughts immediately, because no matter what she still has a job to be done and picks up the phone. She listens for a while before giving a few affirmative sounds and then wraps up the call with a brusque "Be right there." She can walk of a sudden, thank God, and she quickly jumps to her feet before her legs choose to give out on her again. Grabbing her coat and already half-way out the bullpen, she turns to Ryan and Esposito, "We've got ourselves a new lead." When the stay in place however, she stomps her foot down impatiently. "So you two coming or what?"

They hesitate and she hates it because she knows what they're about to ask. "What about Castle?" asks Ryan tentatively but Beckett has already braced herself for the answer. "He's sitting this one out. Let's go."

For the next two hours, her mind's blissfully occupied with cracking this goddamn case. They bring the son-of-a-bitch down to the precinct, they interrogate him and he confesses. Gates comes in and claps them on their backs, a tight smile playing on her lips. Kate knows she should feel good, or at least accomplished. But all she feels is misery and she really, _really_ would like some company. Company of a person, who's probably feeling just as miserable as she is right now and for who's misery she's the main reason for.

With her mind off the case, all that remains in the sinking feeling that today, she managed to break something very special that she might not be able to get back. But she has to at least try, has to plead her case, try to explain what she herself still has a hard time understanding.

She picks up her phone then lays it back down. Picks it up again, lays it down again, then sighs. For a brief moment, she wonders if she can just leave it alone, leave it all be. Leave _him _be, leave _them _be, until the worst of the storm is over and he'll waltz through those doors again in the morning like nothing had happened, a huge albeit fake smile playing on his lips and the smell of delicious coffee in his wake. Because it's always like this, isn't it? They fight and he always comes back. _Always._ The question is, does she really want to be that person? To push without regret, to shove him in the chest over and over again until he falls, expecting him to stand back up and come closer only to be shoved again? _What kind of person does it even make her?_

And what if this one time she's pushed too hard for him to even want to get up and come back? And God does she know how much she's pushed – she not just shoved him to the ground, he stomped on him as well.

She goes back to those words she'd let slip in the interrogation room for the millionth time that day and wonders how she could have been that stupid like that, in front a freaking suspect and Castle of all the possible scenarios listening behind the glass. He wasn't even supposed to be there in the first place, he was supposed to get them coffee, but then he insisted he wanted to be there for the interrogation and she let him.

_Dr. Burke might call it a Freudian slip_, Beckett thinks darkly, but she knows it wasn't, because she knows Castle deserves so much better than that. _So damn much better_.

She picks up her phone and dials the familiar number, hesitant yet assured at the same time. If she's gonna do this right, she'll need his help. A pleasant female voice picks up at the other end of the line. "Hello, Dr. Burke's office, how can I help you?"

"Hello Cindy, this is Kate Beckett," she starts taking lungful of breath, "I know I don't have an appointment but I was wondering if Dr. Burke might find some time to squeeze me in for just a couple of minutes today." She hears the woman at the other end of the line hesitate, but something in Kate's voice must tip her off, because she asks her to hold on line while she shuffles away in search of her boss. Kate holds her breath and waits. Once she hears the secretary pick up the phone again after a couple of minutes she squeezes her eyes shut and crosses her fingers.

"Detective Beckett, you still there?"

"Yeah, I am."

"Dr. Burke has a full calendar, but he says he can squeeze you in for some twenty minutes if you are able to be here within an hour. Is that possible?"

"Yeah," she says, letting out a huge puff of air, "that would be really great. I'll be there in thirty."

Kate put down the phone and throws a look at the huge clock on the wall. Technically, she's still at work, but with the case wrapped up so quickly and Gates satisfaction with their work, it shouldn't be too hard to ask the woman for an early leave, the paperwork can wait. Still it makes Kate internally cringe at the thought of having to actually go and ask for permission. Her relationship with the new captain's still a rather tangible one. She knows she herself is partly to blame, she never got over what happened to Roy and she still has a hard time accepting the new authority figure in her life. The fact they hadn't seen eye to eye from the first moment on doesn't help either. _Plus, Gates still dislikes Castle, despite how much he's tried to prove herself to her._

She doesn't even know where that thought came from, but the reminder of why she actually needs the time off today makes her reel. Guilt comes racking inside of her once again, that broken look on his face when those lift doors closed behind him. It's like an allegory of them, but she doesn't want to go that far, because they are still repairable, aren't they? She never meant to hurt him, not like this. She knew she would one day, but she hoped for a more controlled environment. And a situation, a time, where she might actually offer the words back to him.

'*_Now* she remembers_…'

His words echo in her head and she feels completely lost. She doesn't know how to fix this, she doesn't even know where to start and what to say to him, but she certainly cannot let it hang in the air between them like it never happened. Because so many things have already happened that they haven't talked about and it's slowly killing them.

Because what if he doesn't walk through those doors tomorrow like she always expects him to? Maybe she's taken too much for granted. Because Richard Castle is a generous man, even more with her than anybody else, but certainly even he must have his limits. She knows he is one of those people who will do anything for the ones they care about, anything at all, but that there is still a limit somewhere that when once breached won't be forgiven anymore and she's just reached hers.

She knows she a wicked woman sometimes, likes to push men's buttons, and especially with Castle, she's pushed them often only for the sake of pushing and seeing how far he would let her to go with it. Truth be said, be allowed her to go pretty far, certainly further than she would have ever expected of him. Now, as she sits in the busy bullpen, feeling strangely lonely, she knows with a pang of sadness and self-spite that if she asked him a couple of weeks ago, he would let her push all the way without hesitation. Because he _is_ such a good man.

But it shouldn't be like that, should it? He certainly doesn't deserve it. She's made the past year about her, _all _about her. She was shot and then recuperating in silence and seclusion of them all, despite her knowing he must have hurt too. She's got diagnosed with PTSD and was the one to snap at him while she got it all under control. They'd got to meet his former muse and _she_ was the one who had a problem with it instead of offering support when Sofia ended up being a double agent. And when he's got possible news on his long lost father _she_ was the one to mule over the truth behind Sofia's words.

To be honest, Beckett wonders how it is that the rubber band she's been yanking Castle on hasn't snapped yet, coming back to slap her in the face. Because quite frankly, she'd deserve a good old slap. What she did today, that slip there in the interrogation room, was inexcusable. She should have known better, be more careful, mind her own words, because words could hurt more than anything else.

She glances at her watch, noticing she's already wasted five minutes on her useless thoughts of misery. Even now, she's still making it about herself, and it's time she stopped and let someone else take to lead for a little while. Just before going in to see Gates, Kate takes out her phone and quickly types a text;

_Hey Castle, can we talk?_

Then she thinks back to the way he left, to the crumpled posture in the lift when he thought nobody else was looking and something inside of her cracks and softens. If she wants to do at least this single thing in their relationship right, she might just as well be nice about it. She retypes the message, considering it for a moment before she hits send with a shaky finger.

"_Can we talk, Rick? Please," _she writes, and she means it. For the first time since she can remember, she really wants to _talk_ to him_._

xxx

_**A/N:** Reviews, especially caffeinated ones, make my inspiration spike and write faster. So it's all in your hands. _


	3. Muse's fool

**Name: **Muse's fool

**Fandom: **Castle

**Characters: **Castle/Beckett, Martha

**Genre: **Romance, Angst

**Chapter:** 3/3

**Rating: **R, I guess, for some curse words

**Word count: **approx. 5 500 words

**Spoiler alert: All up the aired episodes until 4x19 – 47 Seconds. **

**Summary: **A conclusion my two previous fics I've written for the topic of Beckett's secret coming out. But it works as a standalone too.

**A/N: **_This worked out completely on its own, I merely typed it. This last part is written in a way I know will never come alive on the show, but well, I'd wish it to. They'd surely deserve it. __The story hasn__'t been betaed, sorry._

**Muse's fool**

She leaves Dr. Burke's office an hour later, still highly nervous but determined. He backed her up on her plan, told her she had to talk to Castle if she didn't want to risk their relationship for good.

_A relationship she already might have ruined by deceit._

She doesn't want to dwell on that, rather tries to concentrate of what lies ahead of her, a tight knot forming in the pit of her stomach. She's received a text from him while still at Burke's, telling her to come over when she wrapped things up at work. There was nothing personal in the message, the words - even for a text - curt and cold.

Dr. Burke's advice has been similarly clipped, albeit more gentle.

_Just be honest about what you feel and don't be afraid to talk. He's been your partner over three years, he *knows* you, Kate._

Well, Kate thinks darkly, that's definitely easier said than done. God knows she has a hard time being honest with herself most of the time. But she's been doing much better in the past few months. She's been doing it for _him_, for _them_, to be fair and grant them a real chance before she would stop and run and ruin all that lay in her path like she used to do.

She doesn't want to be that person anymore, she _isn't_ that person anymore. At least it's what she likes to think these days.

She crosses the street, raises her hand to hail a cab. Her hand is slightly shaking. So is apparently her voice when she gives the cabbie his address. She wills her mind back to the image of him behind the closing lift door, the look of misery and sadness clearly written all over his face and she finds her resolve with renewed vigor.

She made this mess, now she has to find a way to untangle it, with as minimal damage to both of their hearts as possible. The drive seems short and insufferably long at the same time.

She pays the cabbie and quickly makes her way into the familiar apartment building before she can change her mind. She nods to the kind old doorman and makes her way straight to the lifts. As the door closes behind her she is once again reminded of the way the secret she's been hiding for so long affected her partner of four years.

_Partner_. Kate lets the word float through her mind. But he isn't just that anymore, is he? Hasn't been for quite a while. He's already so much more to her and there's still so much to gain for them, if she only lets herself be that person. By making herself vulnerable, she'd be opening a door for him to get inside. Truth is, she doesn't know how he's managed it, but Kate knows that he already _is_ inside, mind and soul and heart. She was only too scared to admit it until now. The closest she's come to this realization were those horrible minutes that followed the blowing of that goddamned bank. From that moment on up until she could finally put her hands on him, grasp the lapels of his debris covered jacked and feel his heart beating under her own hands, in that moment she realized just how deeply rooted Richard Castle was inside her heart.

Still, she didn't have to guts to confess, even then. She always found a flimsy excuse why it wasn't the right time, part of her arguing she still wasn't ready. But as Dr. Burke pointed out earlier today, she might never feel ready enough, which was part of the nature of the beast. It was only _her_ choice to make that final dive.

As Kate stands in the elevator waiting to hit the right floor, her back supported mightily by the back wall much the same way Castle was standing earlier today, she feels the realization slowly seeping in.

_I cannot have that kind of relationship until that wall comes down, until I put this thing to rest._

Yes, but it wasn't about her mother's case anymore, was it? She's admitted to that months ago.

_I think it's always been there, even before._

She doesn't want to wait anymore. Not for her mother's case to be resolved, not for the wall to completely disappear either, because quite frankly, why bother? Castle's got inside a long time ago. Maybe its time to work on those bricks from inside out, _together_.

That is, if she hadn't blown her chance. Her hearts constricts painfully with that thought, she's taken too much for granted for too long. Taken _him_ for granted. It hasn't been fair and all her well practices excuses seem way too flimsy and hypocritical.

She's been telling herself she still doesn't know so much about him, doesn't know about his past marriages and the reasons behind their endings, doesn't know if he still doesn't view her just as a juicy distraction that will loose its allure once tasted. All this time though, she's been thinking about things she needed to know about him and she never realized the more important part, that _he_ knew _her_ too_._ Knew her with all her flaws, all her dark secrets, all her mistakes and blots. And despite that he still loves her. Because he does, doesn't he? He's proven it on so many occasions it would be an outward lie to deny it.

The elevator dings and the doors slide open smoothly, opening up to a luxuriously carpeted hallway. She knows the door her legs are carrying her to by heart, knows that steel combined with red, knows the alluring home that lies behind that door. It's not just a place to crash after work like her apartment, which might be cozy and nice and all but still just an empty place to return to. No, _Casa de Castle_ - as he likes to call his place - holds much more than a bunch of richly furnished spacious rooms, it holds life, spirit, humor and familial love Kate always finds so fascinating, feeling a pang of longing to have it for herself too someday.

Today however, the door from stealth doesn't symbolize warmth and comfort she's so accustomed to. What lies behind those doors today might be a battlefield, a cemetery with bright blue sky and grass way too green to absorb the crimson of her bleeding heart.

She steels herself, because it's always come to this moment, '_didn't it?'_ and knocks.

She is taken by surprise when she finds his mother opening the door for her. Martha looks unaffected by Kate's lack of response, takes her by the arm and beckons her inside the loft before she closes the door behind her.

There is no exuberant hug, like when she came over after the bank blast, no dramatic gestures Martha made when she greeted her, already in her costume, for her one-woman-show.

There is just this quiet understanding in the older woman's eyes and the look and her stillness, so unlike the woman Kate's used to, make the detective squirm in her spot and avert her eyes in shame. _So his mother knows._ Of course she does, this family does everything but keep secrets from each other. Still, the sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach doesn't go away as Kate tries to identify the feeling, which feels strange yet oddly familiar. Its embarrassment, she realizes in the end, like a child that's disappointed their parents deeply.

"C'mon, c'mon dear, don't stand there like a statue," says Martha, bringing her more into the loft.

"I -," Kate starts, but she doesn't know what to say. What _is_ there to say? To Castle's mother all the same. Yet she has a strange feeling of needing to justify herself, explain to the older woman she never meant to hurt her son.

"It's okay my dear, he's waiting for you in his study," interrupts Martha, whether she knows what's on Kate's mind or not unclear at this point. But she obviously doesn't want to hear it and Kate is glad in a way because God, she doesn't even have words for Castle, how could she find them for his mother?

"I'll be upstairs, if you need anything," says Martha, turning on her spot and leaving for the stairs. Just at the bottom however, she turns once again towards Kate, a thoughtful yet determined look in her eyes. "He's pretty hurt Kate," she says quietly, watching the younger woman's shoulders jerk and then slump a little at her words, "and angry, I have to say that. But whatever he says just try to remember that it's not his ego that's bruised, it's his heart." Without waiting for an answer, Martha turns and departs, leaving an already distressed Kate aching with guilt in the middle of their sitting room. _And God, she hasn't even spoken to Castle yet._

* * *

><p>It's his second glass of scotch in the past half an hour. He knows drinking might not be his smartest move, but what the hell, he's been called stupid and reckless more times in his life than he can count so why not add one more?<p>

It's been something over an hour since she texted and he doesn't expect her to be there earlier than by eight in the evening, when even hiding out in the precinct won't be a tolerable excuse.

It's maybe this why he doesn't think much off the gentle knock on his office' door, thinking it's probably just Alexis or his mother checking up on him. He quickly downs the rest of the scotch that burns his throat and then glances at the door, putting up his most upbeat face for their sake. He's been pretending for the past couple of months, so why not continue the charade just the little longer?

It's Kate – _Kate – _however, who stands in the doorway and his face falls immediately. He really didn't expect her to show up this soon, which only proves his 'she has a guilty-conscience cause she didn't want to hurt me by not returning the sentiment' theory. He quickly tries to recover, put on his mask of nonchalant carelessness again, cool indifference in the face of what is yet to come. The blow.

"Can I come in?" she asks and her voice, so unnaturally quiet and timid, takes him by surprise. He waves his arm in invitation, gestures to the chair opposite his writing desk. He himself is standing, his bottom resting against the small table at the far wall of his study.

She comes closer, uneasily, fidgets on her spot. She looks lost, like she doesn't know what to do with herself, then finally she sits down on the opposite side of his desk. She looks like a first-grader on her first visit in the principals office, and something deep and dark inside of Castle inwardly sneers at the picture. _Good._

But then she raises her eyes, meeting his straight-on and unwavering, determination shining in them like he hasn't seen in her other than when breaking her toughest cases. He gulps uneasily, nearly convinced already to forgive her on the spot just for being on the receiving end of that look, but then remembers. All the lies, all the deceit, the three months that seem like a black hole in the bright timeline of his life. All this time she's known and she never as much as contacted him. And Castle discovers a sudden vicious streak in him. He wants to hurt her, wants her to feel at least a little portion of that guilt and heart-wrenching sadness he is so familiar with by now. Wants her to know how betrayal feels like, how much words can hurt. He wants to have this little ugly thing before he'll be forced to figure out where they'll go from there.

He sits down behind his desk, his movements controlled, poker face on. "You wanted to talk," he says measuredly, his calculating eyes now glued on her, "then talk." A sick rush of satisfaction floods his chest when she's the first out of the two to evade his eyes.

"I'm sorry," she starts and those two little words have the power to unleash his fury obviously, because all of a sudden he is standing, his fists coming to rest on the table. It's all he can do not to circle the table, grab her by the shoulders and rattle her, hard. _Sorry? A simple *sorry* won't cut it, not even close._

"For what? For keeping this from me for nearly or year or for lying about it?" he asks, something of that fake calmness slipping away.

"Both," she utters, and the fact that she is still unable to look him in the eye infuriates him even more. Not knowing what to do with himself, he plumps back into his seat with unnecessary force.

"Well, sorry isn't going to do the trick Kate, so you better have prepared something more of a substance."

She raises her eyes then, the lost and panicked look in them nearly stealing his breath away before he gets his feelings under control again. He won't let her do that to him anymore, disarms him by sheer looks of her gorgeousness.

"I never meant to hurt you Castle, you have to believe me that."

The thing is he believes her. It just doesn't take the pain from her betrayal away.

"Well you did," he says stubbornly.

"Tell me what I can do-" she starts, but he cuts through her. "_Explain_," he orders. "That would be a nice start."

She fidgets in her spot and he hates it, hates seeing her so insecure and self-conscious. She seems to be lost for words and Castle doesn't understand why she's come to see him then, if she doesn't even have to words to explain this to him.

"Okay," he says at last, tired of waiting her out, always waiting for her, whether at work or in private. He's _sick_ of waiting until Kate Beckett comes around. "Since you wanted to talk and you seem to be out of words, let me start then." He tries not to notice how her fingers dig into the sleeves of her shirt, how she tugs and the corners of the fabric, her nails scraping the threads, protracting the material to a point of damage.

"Last summer, you got shot in front of my eyes, nearly dying in my arms. Over a thing that was _my_ fault, a thing _I_ couldn't let rest, over a thing _I_ reopened." Her eyes shoot up at that statement and she obviously struggles to say something but he won't let her, his look warning her to not interrupt him. "I know Kate that it was a huge trauma I won't ever be able to fully comprehend, trust me, _I know_. But you were not the only one to have been hurt and traumatized by what happened on that sunny afternoon." Her eyes shy away once again and he is glad. It makes what he has to say easier. "You were lying in that grass, your blood pooling all around you, and the only selfish thing I could think about was how I'd never got the chance to tell you how I felt. You were lying there and I was scared Kate, I was scared shitless, that I might never see you smile or hear you laugh again. That's why I chose not to wait any longer, because there was nothing to wait for anymore. So I told you how I felt, I told you I loved you. _Loved_ you, Kate," he emphasizes and she squirms uncomfortably a little in her seat and his heart breaks a little more, though he didn't thought that possible.

"And then you told me you didn't remember and I believed you. I believed your every word even thought it hurt because I_ knew_ you'd never lie about something like this to me. I guess I was wrong, I seem to have forgotten you were…" he sighs, feeling way too tired all of a sudden. The anger seems to have left his system in one single rush of air, the memories too heavy to hold onto that anger at the moment as well. "That you were only human." He supplies and watches her eyes brim with unshed tears in the dim light of his study. He nearly cannot take her pity, but he wills himself to continue.

"For three months you stayed out of touch with me and first I though it was because you were blaming me," he sees the surprise in her eyes and something else too (_hurt?_) but when he sees her mouth opening to say something, he stops her with a hand gesture, knowing if he wants to tell her, he needs to tell her in one piece. She must understand this because she purses her lips back and falls silent, and at least for that he is grateful.

"For two weeks after the shooting, I couldn't sleep." His eyes fall down for the first time, his voice strangled. "Every time I closed my eyes I could feel your blood on my hands. I could smell it, could hear the heart monitor beep a single continuous tune." There is a silence, and he sees a tear sliding down her cheek. He suspects it must be her own memories catching up with her.

"I had to seek out the help of psychologist in the end, Alexis and mother send me you see," he says with a heavy heart and their eyes lock over the table. She looks surprised but there is also something else in her eyes he cannot identify. He isn't sure he wants to.

"The nightmares stopped eventually, though I still have them on occasions." He says quietly, then continues in a more confident voice. "You were gone and I was left with literally _nothing_ on my hands. I was left choosing to spend my time between finishing writing a book that let me relive every single horror of the past weeks and working with the guys to find the son of a bitch who did this to you, hitting one dead end after another. I wasn't in a good place back then either, trust me." He sounded bitter and something in Kate's chest crumbled away.

"I've been staying it touch with your father, did you know that? Checking up on you," he says, some of the resentment back in his voice and in his eyes. She escapes his piercing look once again and shakes her head. _So she didn't know._

"Must have taken pity on me," Castle says, the reasons behind Jim Beckett's calls still unclear to him. Not that he isn't eternally grateful. "He called me one day a couple of weeks after the shooting. Told me how you were doing. Has been updating me weekly ever since," He is still looking at her, accusation now shining in his eyes. Surprisingly, she meets his eyes steadily, despite the shiny layer glossing over the brown and green of her irises.

"That day at the book signing I didn't know whether I wanted to slap you or kiss you. But then you told me you broke up with Josh and I was once again disarmed. You told me that you needed time and I was willing to accept that, wait as long as it took for you." At this, he makes a self-deprecating snort that has Kate's heart constrict in pain. "See, I was so stupid I though you meant to wait for _me_."

* * *

><p>Her fingers twitch with want to reach out to him to comfort him several times during his speech. She sees what it's doing to him, to remember and retell everything that he's been hiding under his layers of careless happiness for so long. She had no idea, she honestly had <em>no<em> idea of the depths of his anguish. Of course she knew she's hurt him, knew those three months must have been hard on him, but she honestly didn't have _any _idea how much damage she's done to him. The shameful part is that she cannot even honestly tell she would do anything differently if given the chance to turn back time. She was not in a good place back then, she would eventually drag them both down with her problems. It still doesn't ease the gnawing guilt over seeing what kind of wounds she knowingly inflicted on him. He deserves none of this.

He's really thought she had it in her to blame him for the shooting. Her whole insides are shaking in her chest like a bowl of jelly by this. And then the confession that he's been seeing a psychologist for having nightmares. _Christ_, _nightmares_. About her, dying. It's this image, of him alone in bed at night gasping while waking up all confused and shaken by a morbid dream, that makes the first of her tears to finally escape her eye. Because she knows only too well what that's like, and she never wanted that for him. _Because of her._ Her side burns with her scar, the puckered flesh between her breasts feels too tight. Despite her eyes swimming with tears most of his speech, for the better part, she manages to wills them away. He deserves to be heard out, it's the least she can do. The least she owes him. She owes him a lot more, she knows, but for now, she'll sit here and listen to whatever he has to say to her, no matter how painful to hear for the both of them.

The news about her father surprises her, he never told her. She cannot blame him really, she would have forbidden him if she knew. She even feels grateful now, knowing it brought at least some kind of peace to his troubled mind, knowing that she was making continuous progress with her slow and painful recovering. Yet it isn't enough. _God, it's *so* not enough…_

She feels her chest fall heavy with guilt and emotions, love and hurt. She actually agonizes over his pain she herself inflicted and it makes her feel more than a little sick. If she were a decent person, if she were a _normal_ person, they could be the simplest thing in the world.

There is a moment of silence after he tells her about that day on the swings and her heart breaks some more when he tells her, in self-spite, how foolish he was for thinking she was talking about him. _But she *was* talking about him,_ and she knows she has to tell him, but he still seems he's not finished and she vowed to herself she would hear him out first. Besides, there is still this lump the size of a fist stuck in her throat.

"You know Kate, I never expected you to say those words back to me," there is pain in his voice now, loud and clear, but there is also a trace of cold fury dancing beneath the surface. "I just wanted you to _know_. For my sake, so the next time something like this happens, I won't carry around this burden with me for never telling you. But it seems like I was not the coward here, after all." He gives her a hard look now, and Kate knows the fury is back. "So please Kate, could you explain to me why the hell you didn't tell me you heard me? Why did you keep lying to me about it? And please don't tell me you wanted to spare my feelings Kate, because I certainly won't be able to stand _that _kind of humiliation."

He lowers himself down into the chair after that, heavily, his fingers coming to squeeze at his eyes. He looks tired, beaten, and she wants nothing more but to go to him and soothe those lines of worry over the bridge of his nose with her own fingers. But she can't just yet, she owes him an explanation first. After that it will be _his_ decision to decide where they go next.

He is still sitting there, his face buried in his hands, shoulders slumped. She wants to talk, she knows she needs to, but there is too much on her mind and she doesn't even know where to begin.

_How about you answer his question first?_ She suddenly hears the voice of Dr. Burke in her head. She takes a deep breath._ Okay, she can do that, right?_ And she starts to talk.

"I lied to you because I was scared." She feels him raise his head to look at her, but she keeps her eyes averted, trained on her twitching hands instead. And just like that, there are tears in her eyes again and she doesn't seem to be able to stop them anymore, so she hastens with her explanation before she still has the courage and voice to do so. "I was shot and I thought I was about to die. And then you were there, telling me not to leave, telling me you _love_ me," she stumbles over the words, her voice nasal and wet with a fresh wave of tears. "The next thing I know I am lying in the hospital and there is this excruciating pain in my chest and confusion in my head and then there is _Josh_." She dares to raise her eyes at him then to gauge his expression. Its blank and she feels her heart drop another notch in her chest.

_You owe him, you owe him, you owe him a proper explanation, _she chants in her head, willing herself to continue. "So yes, when you came in and asked me, I lied." His eyes are hard, but some of the pain of that day seeps through his false bravado and it's _this_ that gives her courage to continue.

"The longer I stayed away the harder it was to acknowledge that what you said to me was real." She sees him open his mouth about to protest, but she stops him with the same hand gesture as he did only a couple of moments before. "Those were an awful three months Castle. And God knows I _wanted_ to call you, _so badly_, but I knew that if I did, everything I tried to run away from would catch up and return to me along with you and I couldn't do that, at least not until I got a semblance of my former life back." Another fat tear escapes down her cheek and she wipes at it angrily, her eyes accidently coming to lock with his over the table. And just like that, despite her blurred vision she cannot look away.

"I read your books you know," she says hoarsely. "Had my father run to the store the first day Heat Rises hit the stores. It got me through some of the darkest days of my physio," she nearly whispers and sees something in his eyes crack, finally shift. It fills her with hope that maybe, just maybe, she's still got a chance. "After that first case, after I froze in that storehouse, I went back to the shrink who cleared me for active duty. Been returning for therapy ever since."

"Does it help?" he asks and she can see genuine concern in his eyes. Her heart warms and she gives him a small smile then nods. "Yes, it does. A great deal actually. You know, we get to talk about _you_ a lot. I-" she stumbles, stops abruptly, and he watches her as she makes her decision whether to tell him what's on her mind. "I told him about you, about _us_. About what happened last summer."

"What's his verdict?" he asks, and there is the tiniest hint of a joke in his tone. In that moment, it means _everything_ to her. Instead of going for the easy, she decides to give him the complex, more revealing answer. "I've got PSTD," she says and sees his eyes widen and then soften, his lips opening just the slightest bit. She wishes she could kiss him right now.

"So we've been working on that. The sniper case was a though one, but it made me realize one thing," she says quietly, noticing her words made him curious.

"What?" he asks simply.

"That I don't want to be the shell of my mother's case anymore," she whispers, a tear sliding down her cheek.

"Oh Kate," he laments and she can see him literally itch to get out of his chair to cross the barrier between them. She cannot let him do that however, not just yet.

"I told you earlier that I wouldn't be able to have the kind of relationship I wanted until I put my mother's case to rest," she continues and he nods. "Well, that's not true anymore. I came to realize that that wall I've been talking about," she takes a deep breath, runs a hand through her messy hair, "has always been there, self-imposed to protect me from getting hurt. But at the same time it wouldn't allow anybody in. And that wall wouldn't go away on its own, not even with my mother's case solved. It's something _I_ need to work on. And I didn't feel the need to do it before. But I do _now_," she adds quietly.

He's perplexed, stunned by her words. Kate can't really blame him, she's never offered so much of herself to anybody before. She knows he must be overwhelmed by that. She's suddenly sad she waited so long to tell him.

"You know what made me realize I needed to change? What was the driving force behind me wanting to get better? Be _more_ in life?" she asks softly, sudden gentleness entering her heart and voice. He looks so damn clueless as he shakes his head at her that it makes her heart ache. He really has no idea.

"It was _you_, Castle. I didn't tell you I heard you back in may because I wasn't ready then. But I _was_ waiting for you, Castle. And when we talked back on those swings, I _did_ want you to wait for me."

There is shock in his eyes, genuine surprise, incomprehension. He still doesn't believe her and she desperately searches her mind for away to make him believe, make him understand. "I was keeping mum these whole months Rick because I was preparing myself for being with you. I wanted to get better first, become a better person, so we could have a chance at a real relationship. You are far too important to me to screw it up just like I did in the past, and being_ me_, Kate Beckett the ice queen," she says, a self-deprecating laugh leaving her own lips this time.

"You are no such thing," he tells her disapprovingly with his eyes boring into her. Hers fill with tears and she desperately wants to believe him. Another tear slides down her cheek as she looks down into her lap where she's cradling her restless hands.

"Tell me I didn't screw this up too badly, tell me I didn't throw away possibly the best thing that ever happened in my life," she whispers, her voice very close to begging. The tears flow freely now.

He is silent and she cannot bring her eyes up to look at him. She hears a noise, hears his footsteps. Before she knows it he's standing in front of her, his shaky hand coming to cradle her wet face. She raises her eyes then. His face is very close to hers, so close in fact she can feel his warm breath hitting her face in steady rhythmic puffs. He doesn't say anything but his eyes say it all. He's smiling at her broadly, radiantly. It's a smile she hasn't seen in so long that she's nearly forgotten it ever existed. He looks ten years younger when he smiles like that at her.

She cannot help as her own lips twitch into a broad smile of her own. It keeps on stretching over her face, splitting it into two until it hurts but she can't bring herself to care. She feels like a heavy weight has been lifted from her shoulders, feels like there truly is something to the saying of a burden shared.

He's still looking at her, mesmerized and smiling, a dazed look in his eyes. He's waiting for something she realizes all of a sudden, he's waiting for her to make the first move. _Always letting her take the lead._

She doesn't disappoint him. She briefly wonders about crashing her lips to his because yes, she wants him with a searing urgency tightening in her gut, but she feels that this moment deserves something else. They've had their needy, burning kiss before, undercover or not.

This time she aims for something else. She closes the distance between them slowly, oh so painfully slowly, keeping her eyes open until the very last moment, watching him with that burning want and desire. When her eyes flutter shut it's from that electric feeling that shoots right through her chest, restarting her heart as their lips meet. It's a simple kiss, an innocent really, a lingering one. Just warm and soft lips, oh so sweet and pliant. She moves her own over his slowly, gently, pouring everything she feels for him into that one kiss, savoring the moments for what it is. The start of something new and hopefully very long-lasting.

She feels him shudder by the time she withdraws, only so much so she can look at him again, that radiant goofy smile still plastered on his face. _She loves him, God, she loves him with everything she has_. And although she still cannot tell him by voice, she tries to tell him in any other way.

He doesn't seem to mind. He's still mightily dazed. He expected a fight, or in best case scenario a gentle letdown. He didn't except her to admit to all those terrible and wonderful things and thoughts that have been her silent companion for so long.

Kate Beckett has been waiting for him the same way he's been waiting for her. She's been trying to become a better person for him the same way he's tried to become for her.

_And she's his, for now, and he will definitely work on slowly making her his for forever._

She's still smiling at him like there's no bigger pleasure in the world than to be here with him.

_And maybe_, Castle thinks,_ there's really not. _

END

_AN – Share your love in the form of coffee flavored reviews. Concrit welcome as always. :)_


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